


Freedom Pals: The Tahiti Trials

by 12D3Noods



Series: Freedom Pals: Missions and More [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort Sex, Drama, Drama & Romance, Drinking, Emotions, Episode Related, F/F, F/M, Freedom Pals - Freeform, Gen, High School, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Interactive, Interactive Fiction, Long, Long Shot, M/M, Multi, One Night Stands, Other, Past Relationship(s), Reader-Interactive, Relationship(s), Sex, Sexual Tension, South Park: The Fractured But Whole, Superheroes, Teen Angst, Teenage Drama, Unrequited Crush, World Travel, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-08-06 16:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16391489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/12D3Noods/pseuds/12D3Noods
Summary: The Freedom Pals are banded together once again but are facing a major problem: they have to find a way to pay their debts without their franchise to fall back on and Eric Cartman is willing to go to great, great lengths to solve this problem......by ANY means necessary...





	1. A Call to Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are used to indicate the elements/relationships that may be active or implied throughout the series and altered as the story progresses.

The Freedom Pals were the Avengers of South Park, a young vigilante group that once battled the evils in their podunk town with foam swords and ‘whooshing’ noises. As the town saw years past, so did the valiant children of this group. They raised the stakes and sought crimes that suited their growing capabilities. Fake toys became real weapons as they forged blades in their yards with crafty tools they stole from their parents. They practiced fighting techniques from around the world in classes hosted in Eric Cartman’s basement, since he was the only one with access to the best trainers in Colorado. By night they took to the streets where their hard work paid off in the form of delivering justice and liberating those in need. The kids that played superheroes for fun in the past were honing in their skills to shape a better future for themselves and the town.  


And with the responsibilities of a part time hero came the expenses of new weapons and chemicals to help them maintain their powers. The meth lab in Kenny’s garage became their private chemical workshop, after the dead bodies of the previous owners were dragged out by the police force. This was where they tampered with the ingredients for their powers. Human Kite’s laser eyes, Super Craig’s strength, Mint Berry Crunch’s- no, those ones were real, my bad.  


It was no surprise to anyone in South Park that these experimental mixtures lead to actual heroic powers, so they continued to work in Kenny’s garage, as long as they paid their rent. That was yet another expense of being a hero.  


“Why is being a hero so _fucking_ expensive?” The Coon hollered at their long meeting table. No one sat at the head of the table due to the franchise problem back in elementary school, but that didn’t stop Eric Cartman from leading the group discussions as he so pleased.  


“This is why we needed a Netflix series!”  


“You ruined that remember?” Human Kite interjected.  


“Ay!” The Coon smacked his hands against the table, his claws scratching its surface, causing the rest of the group to groan from the sound.  


“He’s right you know,” Super Craig added.  


“Yeah, Fatass,” Tool Shed decided to throw his two cents in as well.  


“I’m like, so seriously guys, I hate you all.”  


The Coon plopped down in his swivel chair which spun from the table’s edge when he did. The rest of the group returned to the matter at hand: What to do about those finances.  


There was a large blueprint of ideas spread across the table and all of the members had white markers to use but they sat idle in their seats with those markers capped. It felt as unproductive as their school news meetings they held on Tuesdays. Unfortunately, drugs weren’t an option because it went against their moral code. Except alcohol, they had to accommodate for Tool Shed’s drinking habits if they wanted him on the team, despite Human Kite’s objections. Besides, now that they were high school freshman, drinking was a common thing for them. There had been a day or two when Mysterion missed important meetings for S.H.S, as they called it. Serious Hangover Syndrome. It was the after effect of binge drinking Stan under the table, a challenge usually rewarded with a nasty hangover and perhaps a dose of pride if anyone could remember if they beat him or not. Mysterion took that challenge more than anyone else for various reasons, but we’ll save those for another day.  


“Well?” Tupperware had been drawing on his containers with the marker in an attempt to stimulate his brain with something other than the ringing silence.  


“Any ideas?”  


A collective ‘no’ was passed around the room. Mysterion rested his chin in the palm of his hand and closed his eyes. The boredom of thinking like they were in classes could have put anyone to sleep.  


The Coon leaned over the table once more for a dramatic effect as he began his speech.  


“You guys! You guys! I know this is going to sound crazy-”  


“That’s not surprising,” Human Kite muttered.  


“Shut up Kahyl!” The Coon shouted.  


“As I was saying before Human Kite so rudely interrupted me-”  


That received several eye rolls and a round of soft sighs.  


“-Why don’t we look _outside_ of South Park?”  


“I-isn’t that, Agh! T-too dangerous?” Wonder Tweek asked.  


“No!” The Coon waved his arms in his defense. “No, hear me out, really you guys, this is the greatest idea ever!”  


“We’re listening Cartman,” Tool Shed groaned.  


“Think about it. If we took missions from places outside of South Park like, uh, New York! If we took a mission in New York we could make a fortune! New York is where all the rich people live!”  


No one wanted to admit that as dumb as he made it sound, he had a point, somewhere in that mess of bullshit. Tool Shed and Human Kite exchanged glances at one another from across the table as if they communicate telepathically like Doctor Timothy. After sharing a mutual nod, they turned to the rest of the group who were still discussing the possibility.  


“You can’t _actually_ be serious about this you guys,” Human Kite pleaded with his team. “There’s no way we can get some rich guy in New York to ask a bunch of kids for help.”  


“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong Kahyl,” The Coon teased.  


“If they’re desperate enough, they’ll want help from anywhere, even a group of kids.”  


“Why does this already sound like a bad idea that involves you causing problems that the rest of us have to solve?” Human Kite asked with his eyebrow raised in bitter distaste. Tool Shed placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him in his seat.  


“We might not need to create the problems.”  


Everyone stood as Doctor Timothy entered the room from his den and graced them with his presence. They sat down after providing a spot for him at the table. He examined the map, his fingers pressed to his temples as though he were absorbing the scribbled information.  


“I see,” he concluded. “Are there any objections to seeking out greater disturbances?”  


“You mean, we’re actually going to look for crimes outside of South Park?” Human Kite asked in surprise.  


“I mean that I want us to try. There’s no harm in bettering the world for everyone,” he replied.  


This put Human Kite in his place among the rest of the dumbfounded team as Doctor Timothy wheeled himself into his den.  


“I’m in,” Mysterion was first to tally his vote on the blueprint page.  


“I’m in,” followed Tool Shed, Mosquito, Tupperware, Captain Diabetes, Wonder Tweek…  


“I’m in if Tweek’s in,” Super Craig said as he tallied his vote.  


“A-aw C-craig, Agh! I m-mean Super Craig!”  


The Coon marked his vote and threw a sly grin in Human Kite’s direction.  


“Well well well, looks like The Coon strikes again.”  


“Don’t get too full of yourself fatass, if this plan fails then it’s on you,” Human Kite’s bite was restraint as he humbly tallied his vote.  


“That looks like everyone,” Mysterion noted.  


“Then what do we do first? Zzzt.”  


“Well of course, Mosquito, we’re going to have to find a mission!” The Coon announced.  


“One that pays,” Super Craig added.  


“Exactly. Human Kite, you’re in charge of the database, I want you compiling all of the information we find online and sifting through the best deals.”  


The Coon paced around the table as he assigned roles to each member. Human Kite, reluctantly, went to their supercomputer to start his job.  


“Mosquito and Tupperware are our spies. I want you to find out what’s happening in South Park. What gossip is crawling through the streets and what are the people looking for.”  


They nodded.  


“You’ll report back to Super Craig and Wonder Tweek who will work on our campaign both online and in town. I want posters, flyers, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. Get in touch with Call Girl and see how she can help, just don’t tell her that we actually need help or anything. We could totally do this without her if we _wanted_ to, she just makes this easier.”  


“Wh-why us? Gah! Th-that’s a lot of p-pressure!”  
Super Craig rested his hand on Wonder Tweek’s back to sooth him with a gentle rub while The Coon rolled his eyes.  


“Duh, you work at a coffee shop with your parents. You know a thing or two about campaigning. And lets not forget about Craig’s little School News stunt. I don’t care if half of the town is drinking gallons of cough syrup when you’re done. I just want to the town to know what we’re doing!”  


“Got it,” Super Craig said as he guided Tweek to the corner where they could meddle with the printer.  


“Tool Shed, Mysterion, you two are in charge of night patrol. Tool shed gets the early shift and you get the late one. Just because we’re expanding, it doesn’t mean we’re free from our duties here in South Park.”  


“And what will you be doing?” Mysterion asked, crossing his arms as he waited for a genuine response.  


“Me?” The Coon placed his claws tenderly across his chest.  


“I’m the mastermind,” he told him, “I’m going to be supervising everyone from headquarters.”  


“That doesn’t seem very fair,” Tool Shed gathered. He joined at Mysterion’s side.  


“It is fair,” The Coon insisted. “If it wasn’t fair then I wouldn’t be doing it now would I?”  


“Just leave him be,” Mysterion grumbled.  


“This is the first time he’s had something decent to add to the team. We might as well take advantage of it while we can.”  


Tool Shed agreed and they left to arrange what they would need for their shifts that night.  


The Coon sat in his chair and kicked his feet up on the table to relax to the sweet sounds of everyone working under his command. Then, without warning, Human Kite pulled on the back of his chair, causing him to dip so far that it slid out from under him and he crashed to the ground.  


“What the fuck was that for?” He growled.  


“That’s for being a lazy fuck,” Human Kite retorted. “You don’t get to lay around while the rest of us slave away.”  


“Careful Kyle, you’ll offend your Jewish ancestors with that attitude. They were all slaves you know.”  


“Shut up Cartman,” Human Kite grumbled, “Just get up and do your part. If you want to be a leader then lead.”  


With that, Human Kite returned to his station, leaving The Coon to pick himself up off the floor. He muttered a few choice words under his breath before checking in on his busy bees, periodically, between his own paperwork he had to do. 

It was well into the next morning when they all regrouped for a consensus. They greeted one another with tired eyes and sleepy groans as they drug their feet to their chairs. Wonder Tweek brought two holders of coffee to share but the group avoided it like the plague. The secret ingredient in Tweak Bros. Coffee was not a secret to them and they decided they would rather rest their heavy heads on the chair than wired themselves with drugs. Super Craig leaned on Wonder Tweek’s shoulder which calmed his partner’s nerves while Mysterion used his cape as a pillow, Tool Shed put his head on the table and Human Kite balanced his chin on his hand. The other members were in the same sleepy state, their half lidded eyes threatening to whisk them away to their dreams. Except for The 

Coon, who had yet to arrive to the meeting he called to order.  


“You guys!” He called to them as his feet pounded on the staircase.  


“You guys I’ve got it! I’ve actually got it!”  


He waved a sheet of paper around above his head while he ran to his seat, then he slapped it on the table, causing everyone to jump in their seats.  


“This is it! This is going to be our first outside mission! It’s going to pay bank you guys.”  


He turned the paper so that everyone could lean in and see the long line of 0’s behind a bolded number 1.  


“Is that a million dollars? What the hell Cartman? Where did you find this?” Human Kite pointed to the digit as though he were afraid to touch it with his bare hand.  


“Up to a million, it says,” The Coon clarified.  


“And we got first dibs.”  


“But from who? Where did you get this?” Mysterion asked, snatching the paper to read it through for himself.  


“That’s for me to know and care about as the leader of this mission,” The Coon stated proudly.  


“And as leader of this mission, how do you expect us to get to _Tahiti_?” Mysterion questioned as he slid the paper to the center of the table. The rest of the group crowded around it to see exactly what Mysterion was talking about. The Coon seemed taken aback by Mysterion’s doubt. After all, why should anyone question The Coon?  


“I have a plan Mysterion and there are tickets on hold, if we take the mission, which I say we should,” The Coon said as he circled his beady eyed team.  


“What do you all say?”  


The group hesitated but they knew they needed the money to tip off Kenny’s parents and the other local stores that supplied them with their hero needs. Their miscellaneous jobs at coffee shops or Raisins weren’t enough. Human Kite, to everyone’s surprise, put the first tally vote on the sheet.  


“You better not be fucking with us, or I will personally sneak into your room at night and burn your costume,” he threatened.  


The Coon flashed him a wicked grin.  


“How could you say that? I wouldn’t do that to you, would I, Kyle?”


	2. One Night Stan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan isn't completely convinced about this trip Cartman has planned for the rest of the gang. Is he really the only one worried about it? What are his friends thinking right now...

Stan’s head was laden with a strong, alcoholic fog that he couldn’t shake, even by looking at the map Kyle printed out for all of them in their last meeting before their trip. They were expected to be packed and ready to go around three in the morning and the night continued to stretch on as each minute seemed to take longer to tick by. Stan had his head in his hands and that map was sprawled out between his elbows on his desk, spotlighted by the lamp he bent at the neck. It was a bendable lamp, of course, he could point it in any direction he needed and right now his foggy head needed it planted on that little speck of an island in the South Pacific. 

“Really, _Tahiti_?” he groaned in disbelief as his hands fell onto his sagging face. It was hardly past midnight and he was exhausted but he couldn’t sleep. They were leaving nice, homey Colorado for Tahiti in a few hours and he hadn’t even packed yet. 

Cartman’s ability to plan and organize a trip when he needed to both amazed and scared Stanley Marsh. At this lonesome, rickety old desk of his, Stan could remember countless nights that he dumped all of his energy into projects on random people like George Bush for Mr. Garrison or some English essay he got half-way through the book for and to think, Cartman put all this iron-willed energy into travelling across the globe for a game of superheroes. Stan sputtered out a laugh, opened his eyes and saw fucking _Tahiti_ staring back at him in bold script on a sheet of 3 cent printer paper. Maybe if he stared long enough, he thought, everything would revert back to being simple and plain like the paper and he wouldn’t have to worry about coming up with an excuse as to why he was gone, across the ocean, for an entire summer. 

Not that he would have a problem convincing his parents. Since he entered high school his parents have paid less attention to the nonsense he was up to, that is, unless it impacted his baseball scholarship he was riding on for college. Why he couldn't go to a community college like most of his friends and hop on to the next from there was beyond him. Kenny’s parents didn’t seem to mind that type of plan but he and Kenny lived vastly different lives. Kenny’s parents weren’t affluent, didn’t have college degrees and probably didn’t expect him to finish as a world-renowned baseball star they could catch on one of their 35 total channels (if the signal was there). Would saving a Tahitian tribe from unknown perils for a profit count as a community service on his college application? He could only hope. 

He started to pack around one in the morning and finished at about one twenty. There wasn’t anything he could think of bringing with him other than the typical list of beachwear, his superhero uniform, his gear and enough sunscreen to fill a boat. In his drunken mind, he also decided that a pack of condoms would be necessary because they managed to add Call Girl to their group for the mission and he didn’t want to take any chances. With Token or not, Wendy was his drunk mind’s fantasy and somewhere in there he still believed that she might come around if he could prove to her how he felt then, in elementary school, and now. 

Stan laid on his bed when he finished and checked their group messaging system. Cartman created an entire app for them to communicate through and it fared much better for alerts than those sirens he installed in their houses a while back. Somehow he made it so the alerts broke through their internal commands, bypassed the ‘mute’ and despite any other attempts to change this feature: it never failed to blare in their ears like a police alarm. For his personal safety, Cartman learned to only use this mechanism when it was absolutely necessary and to be sure, there was a list of “absolutely necessary alarm calls” posted in their app for this purpose. Whoever abused this power was, under the Inappropriate Alarm Usage Act XVI, “asking to be punished in a form of moderate humiliation which will commence during their sleep.” The act scared everyone into following the rules because it became a real threat when everyone had a detailed map of where everyone else lived. Stan had no worries about it because he had no reason to send an alarm, he was just moseying through the chatrooms, wondering who else was possibly opposed to travelling over the ocean. 

Kyle: Hey, Stan, can I call you? 

Stan turned his head to look at the bottom of his door. The hall lights were off which meant the entire house was asleep, except for him of course. Yeah, a call didn’t sound so bad. He didn’t listen to it dial for long. 

“Are we actually doing this?” was the first thing Kyle asked him and he stifled a chuckle behind his free hand. 

“Man, I don’t know,” he replied with a sigh. “I have no idea what we’re doing anymore.” 

“Maybe we should tell him we’re not going. This superheroes game has gone on long enough…my costume’s starting to get worn.” 

“Yours too?” asked Stan whose head rolled to the side to look at the mess of an open-faced suitcase. 

“My mom would kill me if she found out this wasn’t the summer camp told her I signed up for. I’ll have to take some pretty convincing photos,” Kyle told him. 

“You’re bringing a camera? To an island? How are you going to charge it?” 

“Cartman probably has a way to charge our phones and I’ll just bring that. We’re all just bringing our phones. I don’t think I would trust any other equipment around Cartman that long anyway. What if he tried tampering with it? Or selling it to the tribe for a profit? If my mom doesn’t do it first then my dad would kill me for losing his camera and I don’t want to be in any more trouble than I’m already asking for.” 

“Yeah.” 

“What about you?” 

“What about me?” Stan asked, sitting up suddenly as though he were shocked by the change of subject. 

“What did you tell your parents?” 

“The usual,” Stan lowered back down, rubbing the sweat from his brow. “I’m going to hang out at my friend’s places. Might take a trip or two. They don’t care as long as I’m not being handed back over to them by the police.” 

“Must be nice.” 

_Or lonely_ , thought Stan as he opened his mouth and mindlessly agreed with him. He reached to his side to fiddle with the empty bottle of whiskey, rolling it from one side of his nightstand to the other, catching it with his fingertips and doing it over again. He knew Kyle wouldn’t hear it on the other end of the phone because Kyle was too busy listening for his parents. His mind wandered while Kyle whispered about what he thought the mission would entail. 

_Kyle’s going, I’m going, Kenny’s going, Cartman’s going, Tweek, Craig, Wendy, Token...who wasn’t going? Butters! Butters was who I forgot. Is he even a part of this?_

Butters, or Professor Chaos in their world of fiction, was their typical nemesis when they couldn’t find anything better to practice their skills on. On occasion, Butters came around with some nasty schemes that gave them a run for their money but that didn’t stop the rest of the group from underestimating him. He was too finicky to strategize effectively and that baby face of his made him an easy target for bad influences that even the rest of the gang didn’t want to be involved with. Last time they encountered him, he was working with those Mexican guys again and could barely speak to them, much less keep them under his command. In the end, it proved to be a waste of time, breaking into his ‘lab’ in the storage unit just to push a desk over and ruin Chaos’ entire database. When Professor Chaos became a problem was when they purposefully excluded him from one of these mock adventures and he found a way to meddle in all their plans which were plain annoying. It was like when Stan had to hold his sister out of arm’s reach by her head when she came charging at him the other week but replace Shelly with Butters and put the rest of the Freedom Pals behind him. 

What was he worrying about? Butters’ parents wouldn’t believe any lie he tried to tell even if he was invited. He was about to ask Kyle what he thought when he noticed that Kyle fell asleep on the phone and dropped it on his chest, the call running, in case he woke up again. 

_Only a few hours left_ , Stan thought to himself as his head cleared. His tired, glassy eyes lingered on the alarm clock beside his bed. 

“Kyle’s asleep,” he said as though it would change the fact. “Maybe Kenny’s not.” 

He checked the activity in the group chat room and spotted Kenny’s name a while back, so maybe he was asleep. His heart was as restless as his scrambled thoughts and he was desperate for someone to help him sort them out. He scrolled through his contacts, two, three, six times, past the same old pictures of their childhood faces and none of them looked as friendly and familiar as Kyle, Kenny or.... 

“Well, I’m not calling Cartman if I don’t have to. Kenny’s worth a shot,” Stan concluded while it dialled. 

“Wh-what?” answered Kenny breathlessly. Stan rolled his eyes. 

“Really?” 

“What! How come you’re getting on my case? If you could then you would too. Don’t you have someone that a, _ah_ , --fuck.” 

“No,” Stan deadpanned, killing the frisky mood rising from the other end of the phone. “I don’t have someone I want to sleep around with and I’m not horny twenty-four seven like you either. I’ll leave you to it--” 

“N-no! No no no, wait, hold on, what are you calling me for?” He could hear Kenny shuffling around in the background, probably putting his orange sweatpants on. “I can take a break.” A pop-tab clicked and whatever drink he had fizzled loudly next to his voice. “Tonight’s relax night. I’ve been on airplanes before, to Romania, remember?” 

“I remember,” groaned Stan as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was curious what you thought about the trip.” 

“Tahiti? I think it’s far fetched but nothing I’m not willing to do. There’s a beach and we don’t have those in the BFN Colorado.” 

“BFN?” Stan asked dumbly. 

“Bum-fuck-nowhere. It’s a saying. I’m surprised you don’t know it, I hear it everywhere,” Kenny explained. “It’s another way to say the middle of nowhere, which, if you’ve ever driven around our town, makes perfect sense.” 

Stan tried to argue that they had a mall but its shops were closing down left and right. The food court was the last section of the mall that truly serviced its customers without its products being over 50% off and had a sign that said: “closing soon”. What was a Panda Express to a big town that had four different locations for Starbucks on the same strip of road? Kenny’s point left Stan deflated. He sighed and released his nose before he pinched it purple. 

“Anyway,” Kenny started in again while he struck a match for his cigarette. “Tahiti sounds like an adventure. Why? What are you worried about?” 

“The bullshit that Cartman will cause if he hasn’t already,” Stan answered plainly to which, Kenny couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Right, right.” 

“And if Butters decides to try something stupid.” 

“Butters? His parents would ground him for life. He won’t be coming with us,” Kenny reassured. “Unless he tries to stowaway in the carriage compartment of the plane but even Butters isn’t dumb enough to do that.” 

_Was he?_


	3. Chaos Emerges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tahiti is within reach and the gang is ready to go...almost. There's no telling what will happen when a little _Chaos_ strikes!

“I-I don’t like the l-look of AGH th-this!” Tweek whimpered, approaching the plane hand-in-hand with his boyfriend Craig, who pretended he wasn’t just as nervous with his naturally stoic expression. He said nothing in response to Tweek’s comment because he knew that if he did, the act would crumble along with his voice which was typically the deepest of them all (except when he was nervous, of course). He would crackle like a firecracker and then everyone would explode in chaos. He hated unnecessary chaos. On the other hand, his buddy Kenny seemed rather amused by the displaced atmosphere and continued to poke the elephant in the room...or on the runway.

“Would you look at that, Cartman sure knows how to pick ‘em!” he whispered in Craig’s ear through his parka, making him jump out of his skin, though not literally, mind you, however plausible it may seem. 

“Fuck off, Ken,” Stan spoke ahead of Craig who was ready to rip Kenny to shreds with a well-thought-up speech about being a brat that “nobody in their right mind would go on an adventure with”. Stan continued to amaze them all with his uncaring attitude as he tossed his duffle bag into the open compartment beneath the main cabin. He turned and offered a hand to the next loader, which happened to be his best friend Kyle, and tossed it in for him. 

“I thought you might not be coming,” Stan muttered as he packed it in with Craig and Tweek’s bags. Kyle stood off to the side while the rest of their team handed Stan more bags to load, and shrugged. 

“I couldn’t let you go alone with Cartman and Kenny to Tahiti, that spells disaster,” Kyle replied with a smile, his green eyes resting wistfully on the back of Stan’s neck. Stan never told anyone else that he wanted to get a tattoo there someday and the thought of one of their many shared secrets made Kyle smile. 

_The popular high school jock and the student council treasurer, now that’s a school-news worthy couple to pick up on, don’t you think, Stan?_

He could hear him reply before he ever asked aloud: _Now you’re starting to sound like, Kenny, knock it off dude._

_Am I starting to sound like Kenny?_ Kyle thought, glancing at the orange parka hood bouncing around the ladder while the group climbed on. He must have been waiting for the two of them which, he certainly didn’t have to do, Kyle thought bitterly. Then again, who was he to meddle with the third wheel of their incomplete wagon? They already lost Cartman (most likely to the cockpit with the pilot) and he couldn’t think of a good enough reason for him and Stan to eject Kenny from the equation. 

Well, actually, he could think of plenty of good reasons that didn’t involve Kenny but Kyle didn’t have the confidence that Stan had to tell him to ‘fuck off’ that easily. He could withstand the constant pair of eyes for now, as it did give him more time to think about exactly how he wanted to approach Stan about the sacred subject of “relationships”. Why was it sacred, you ask? There is a single name to at _TEST_ for that. 

_Wendy Testaburger_. 

She was the only girl called on the mission because she was granted a super-power by the unknown, unseen, super-hero gods that Cartman decided existed above him in order to save their “all-boys” game from being ruined by girls. Kyle believed that Cartman actually admired the alter-ego Call Girl for her ability to rearrange his cell-phone plan for a cheaper deal from the company, but it wouldn’t be like Cartman to ever admitted it. So instead, he let her join on the condition of one rule (also called the Gender Inclusive Act II): no screwing with their heads with her secret girl mind-powers, or with her boobs (the second part came from the revised edition, created for Kenny’s sake after the “Raisins Incident”). Kyle didn’t have any objections to her joining either...except for one. Since Wendy and Stan broke up (again), they have never really quite been the same. Stan put all of his excess energy into football or baseball which was, what Kyle considered, a great outlet, but to deal with the physical pain that ensued, he also relied on the alcohol he stored in his nightstand much more (though he never brought it up in conversation). Kyle wouldn’t tell him that he figured it out either, though it wasn’t difficult to discover with Stan arriving to class in clothes that reeked of whiskey. He managed to keep his spot on the sports teams because he was one of their best players too. The time Stan sacrificed for sports and alcohol twisted their friendship in an awkward direction where Stan forgot how to handle, much less acknowledge emotions, while Kyle stuffed them into a bottle to deal with alone. 

No, no they were still best friends in every sense of the word. They talked about everything and anything when they got the chance, however scarce their sleepovers became. They were glued to each other in the library during cram-week before finals and at lunch almost everyday, or when Kyle didn’t have student council meetings. They were the type of best friends that knew when to keep their distance from each other, Kyle thought. Stan’s drinking episodes and weekend parties were his business and Kyle would rather speak to him when he was sober anyway. 

Kyle wished that he wouldn’t go out and chance his career either, but what could he say? He didn’t have the confidence like Stan did to go tell _Stan_ to put his life together. But if that was the case, then what were best friends for? 

Then again, Kyle wanted to be more than just “best friends” smiling in a pyjama selfie. He wanted to be the one Stan went to with his troubles instead of a bottle of booze each night. He wanted Stan to hear him, to listen. He wanted Stan. 

_Leave it to Kenny to get in the way of that_ , Kyle thought as Wendy and Token were the last two to board aside from the three of them. 

Wendy and Token, that was another thing. Since she and Stan broke up, Wendy was attached to him like a low-fat, dark chocolate bar from Wholefoods. It made Stan sick, clearly, but it made Kyle sicker. He wouldn’t grow pale like Stan did or lose track of what he was doing and toss a bag on the floor instead of in the plane (like Stan did), but seeing Stan’s eyes linger on those two made his stomach drop beneath the weight of his heart. What did Stan still see in her? And more importantly, _why_? 

The Gender Inclusive Act II only worked in-game. Out of their world of superheroes, Stan had free reign to ogle with jealousy and Kyle almost couldn’t do anything about it. Almost. 

“Hey, Stan,” Kyle chuckled, nudging him after he finally tossed the last bag in. “Why don’t we sit together on the plane huh? It’ll be just and whatever stupid magazines Cartman chose to stow in the seats.” 

Stan flashed him an old half-smile at that. Half-smiles were like a reward to Kyle, they were the only type of smile Stan put any effort into. He offered him a smile in return. 

“Great! Should I go get them?” 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Kenny said as he walked over to join them, pointing at the open door above. “Cartman seems to have all the seats assigned and I doubt he’ll let us move around during the flight. He’s handing out tickets.” 

“When do we ever listen to him?” Stan asked, receiving a chuckle from Kenny while Kyle shrugged in agreement. 

“Good point. Think those are packed tight enough?” Kenny asked. 

Kenny and Stan bent over to inspect the luggage before Stan kicked one of the loose bags in. 

The strange thing was, it grunted back at him for it. 

Kenny reached in to dig through the bags until he found a shining silver helmet flashing them with a beam of sunlight. They shielded their eyes and Kenny was the only one who laughed. 

“What do you know, there is a Butters on board!” he announced, grabbing Butters’ hand to help pull him from the luggage compartment. Butters took a defensive stance, his fists clenched in front of his face. He was dressed in his full costume with a guinea pig cage hanging from his belt. 

“Th-that’s Professor Chaos to you!” he stuttered in response. While Kenny leaned over knees to ‘lose his shit’, Kyle rolled his eyes and Stan pinched his nose. 

“Cut the crap, Butters,” said a nasally voiced Stan. “We’re not in-game right now.” 

Butters dropped his arms, looking at each one of them in disbelief before he shook a smile onto his chubby face. He brought his hands together at his stomach and fidgetted now that his confident facade was hammered by reality. Stan checked to make sure Butters actually had a bag in the compartment with him, which thankfully, he did. 

“O-oh, golly guys, I thought we were goin’ in guns blazing and whatnot. Can I still go? I-I brought all my stuff, I can get changed real quickie--” 

“You know what Butters?” Kenny cut through as he dropped his arm around Butters’ shoulder. He grinned at him. “After that entrance? I’m down. I’ll even help convince Cartman if we have to.” 

“He really did bring his stuff,” Stan muttered once he found the largest, most awkwardly angled bag jutting through the pile in the back. Kyle sighed or groaned, nobody could really decipher between the two. 

“Just come on, we don’t have time for this. Cartman won’t hesitate to leave us behind,” Kyle said as he motioned to the ladder. 

“I-I won’t disappoint you, fellas! I’ll be the best villain I can be!” Butters reassured them as he stepped up into the cabin, Kenny following behind to ensure that he found a seat on the plane. Kyle and Stan waited behind to close the compartment. 

“Are we really bringing him along?” asked Kyle in a whisper. He leaned over to see the expression on Stan’s face, which hadn’t changed much since he pinched it into a frown at his nose. 

“I guess so, dude,” Stan replied. “Nothing we can do about it now. If the police come after us for him, then we toss him over and he gets grounded again. I’m staying out of it though, you know how my parents are about that scholarship.” 

“Maybe if we’re lucky, the police will come around and shut this whole operation down. How is it that Cartman never wound up in jail anyway? Statistically speaking, there’s a high probability that--” 

“Dude, math,” Stan chuckled. “We’re not in school. Cool it, will you? Give that big brain of yours a rest and...I dunno, try to enjoy an island vacation.” 

“A vacation with _Eric Cartman_?” Kyle stressed. “You're joking right? You really think this is going to be enjoyable or is that another sad attempt to make a bad situation look okay? We’re going to be like that whale in Sea World, Stan. A vacation in a giant tank that’s monitored by Cartman when we’d rather be on the moon.” 

“We don’t have a lot of options either. I’m more worried about what he would do to us if we turned around and went home,” Stan explained. “Come on, let’s go find a seat inside before he decides to leave us.” 

“Right behind you.” Kyle and Stan entered the cabin and took their seats in the back of the plane beside Butters and Kenny. A single-aisle separated two rows of seats that stretched from the toilets in the back to the cockpit where Eric Cartman sat next to the pilot. He pulled the microphone down to speak from there since the doorway would be too narrow for his broad shoulders. He cleared his throat for their attention. 

“Welcome aboard, everyone,” he announced calmly, turning his head to glance back at them with a smirk. “We have a long flight ahead of us with a fuel stop in California. Food’s at the back of the plane if you’re hungry but I don’t recommend getting up unless absolutely necessary. I’m seriously guys, it’s a rough flight. And--what the _fuck_ is Butters doing here?” 

“H-hi Eric!” Butters chimed. “I’m joinin’ you guys on your mission! Hope it won’t be too much of a problem! I trained real- er really hard for this.” 

Despite his disgruntlement, Cartman was too concerned about arriving on time to deal with the Butters’ predicament. He patched it up in his head with the excuse of creating a ‘new rule’ about it later before he continued. 

“Whatever, just don’t piss me off. As I was saying, we’ll be arriving at night in Tahitian time. Ugh-- _what_ , Testaburger girl?” 

Wendy lowered her arm, rolling her eyes as she spoke, “My name is Wendy, thank you, and what exactly is Tahitian time? I need to know for my cell phones.” 

Cartman groaned because he quickly concluded that if he answered her, he would be taking the time out of their flight preparation and take off to remember the answer. Worst case scenario, he didn’t remember and he would have to physically locate the said answer on a device and, although his phone was conveniently in his shirt pocket, he didn’t want to have to make the effort to dig for it through the stiff, sweaty fabric. 

“Look it up, Testaburger,” Cartman barked which she entertained with another eye roll as she pulled out her own personal cell phone to search for the answer herself. 

“Leave it to a man to make a woman do all the work,” she muttered. “Typical.” 

Token pressed a hand over the free one she left on the armrest. “Don’t worry dear, I think your independence is charming.” 

Cartman gagged over the microphone to shut them up, “Can I fucking finish what I’m saying so we can fucking arrive on time! You assholes better buckle up and read the god-damn safety instructions in your seats because I’m not reading them for you. Any questions? No? Butters...put, your fucking, hand down.” 

Butters put his hand down slowly, sputtering out a nervous chuckle at the eyes that turned to look at him. Cartman finished his speech with a muffled grumble and the mic shut off. He slammed the door shut to the cockpit, successfully driving out their prying eyes from where he was enjoying a bag of cheesy poofs in his lap. 

Chaos would have erupted in the cabin but Butters was busy playing the crossword game in the magazine he found tucked away with the safety manual. Kenny, who chose the aisle seat, leaned over to toss a paper aeroplane at Craig. Craig crumpled it up when he saw the sketched dick folded inside and threw it to the front, on Token’s tray table. 

“Th-th-th-th-that’s pretty cl-cl-cl-clever C-c-craig,” Jimmy stuttered as he peered over Token’s shoulder. “Oh yeah, ha, real funny guys,” Token grumbled. 

“How immature,” added Wendy. 

“Hey, I didn’t do it,” Craig quickly defended from behind, leaning out into the aisle to block a snickering Kenny. 

“D-d-do what Craig? What did Craig do?” Tweek asked, fumbling to unbuckle his seatbelt in order to jump out of his seat and see above the chairs. 

“Oh yeah?” Token scoffed as he turned around to see Kenny slapping his armrest and laughing. “Right. How does that not surprise me?” 

While that commotion died down and the take-off finished, Kyle removed his eyes from the window to talk with Stan. This was his moment, he thought. It was now or never, he had to tell him the one secret they haven’t shared. 

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” he chuckled to him, his nerves shredding his original plan to bits. Stan didn’t seem to mind how unusually high his voice sounded, but then again, his mind was elsewhere, on two individuals cuddling in the front to be exact. 

“I can’t believe they are either,” Stan grumbled, catching their attention. Wendy rose in her seat and turned around to glare at him. 

“I can’t believe that this is what happens when a bunch of immature boys get together without adult supervision. You’re acting like children.” 

_You’re acting like a child Stan_ , was what he heard, a vaguely familiar line he recalled from their most recent break-up. Tweek came to his rescue. 

“W-we are children!” 

“Teenagers, honey,” Craig corrected. 

“Wh-what’s the ERGH difference?!” 

“Puberty,” Kenny pointed out as he tossed another wad of paper up ahead, along with the other five he randomly threw into other seats. All of them had dicks sketched on the inside. 

“What would you possibly know about puberty?” Wendy challenged. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you make it through an entire lecture without falling asleep.” 

“Hey! First of all,” Kenny hopped out of his seat to confront her above the headrests. “Sex Ed. is the best fucking class in that school and I do pay attention to my classes!” 

“You’re failing Geometry, dude,” Stan threw out there, just because. Kenny shoved him. 

“You’re supposed to be on _my_ side!” he whined. “Traitor!” 

“I found some more paper,” Butters piped up from below, offering a sticky-note pad to Kenny who accepted it as he sat back down. Once he ran out of paper, he leaned his chair back and cinched his hood to get some sleep. The rest of the group decided that sleep was the best option for a long plane ride and shut their windows to block the sun. They all squirmed into a comfortable position before their snooze which, was only interrupted by strong turbulence, a bathroom break or, if you were Wendy and Token, a quick but heavy make-out session. The last reason was what kept Stan awake while Kyle curled up and passed out against the wall beside him. 

“Psst,” Kenny hissed. He woke for reason number two, a bathroom break, and returned to his seat to finish Butters’ crossword game when he noticed the red corners of Stan’s eyes. Stan groaned though he was relieved he had an audience for his woes. 

“Ugh, how many times can you make out on a single plane ride?” he grumbled. Kenny shrugged as he finally witnessed what Wendy and Token tried very little to hide from the rest of the group. 

“Impressive, but I bet we could beat ‘em,” Kenny replied with a suggestive smirk. “What do you say?” 

“I say you're fucking crazy,” Stan said through a sigh. “I’m not making out with you. I don’t know where your mouth has been in the past twenty-four hours...Actually, I do, and I don’t want it on mine.” 

Kenny couldn’t help but chuckle, “We could always skip the kissing part and go straight to the bathroom instead. They can’t go in if it’s already occupado.” 

“No offence, Kenny, but I don’t want whatever disease you have crawling down there either,” Stan explained as he closed his eyes from the world. “I think I would rather take the endless torment of hearing those two.” 

“You sure? I brought condoms.” 

Stan’s hand automatically went for his face where he could pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Why would you bring those?” he asked. 

Kenny snatched the luau from Butters’ neck and dropped it on his own. He nudged Stan until he opened his eyes to see it. 

“Because you never know,” he whispered, fingers tickling the paper flowers. “...the next time you’ll meet a hot island girl.” 

“Unbelievable,” was all Stan had left to say about that. 

“Want one?” 

“A luau, or condoms?” 

Kenny tossed his hands as though he needed to weigh the answers before answering, “both?” 

“No,” Stan grumbled, throwing his head back onto the headrest to mark the end of that unpleasant conversation. 

“Maybe,” he added. “Just one.” 

Kenny reached across the aisle to deliver the luau wrapped condom in Stan’s letterman jacket pocket. 

“I heard you can get drunk faster on a plane,” he whispered in Stan’s ear. 

“Where did you hear that? The internet?” 

“Just thought I’d let you know,” whispered Kenny as he settled into his own seat. Kyle woke up not long after to an empty seat beside him and turned to Kenny since he was the nearest person both coherent and visible through the foggy sleepiness. 

“Where did Stan go?” he mumbled during his yawn. Had Kenny not been his close friend since elementary school, he never would have understood that mess of vowels. 

“Bathroom,” Kenny told him. “I think he’s motion sick. He’ll be in there a while, bad stuff.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is an interactive Fanfiction! As the reader, it's up to YOU to decide where it goes! Throw some suggestions/ideas in the comments below as the story progresses and see if your input changes the course of the story. 
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> Please support your fellow authors by sharing this work and leaving comments/critiques in the section below!
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> Note: Suggestions are subject to change as the author sees fit for the story. 
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> Thank you, enjoy the story!
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